Can I move to Mexico City?

It seems like an excellent, most desirable plan.

There I will reunite with Tomas, the first boyfriend of the (14-year-old) Medusa.

There I will bask in the sun and do . . .something both important and fun.

I will have window-boxes full of azaleas.

Can you tell I am in paper-writing hell?

Hate the filthily stupidly theoretically dense theses to which I am attracted.

Next year for this conference I am going to write about Robert Downey Jr. doing lines off of Jake Gyllenhaal's bare chest--apropos of nothing, suckers!!!!

In other news, it has been 601 days since I smoked a cigarette.

I might take up smoking again when I move to Mexico City.

I refuse to write a paragraph of more than one sentence for this post.

I would like to be drunk.

Or even just hungover.

THAT IS HOW BAD IT IS.

The chalupa, on the other hand, is quite content.